082 CYCLE TOURING LAOS (3)

Pedals and Paddy Fields: Fourteen Days Across Laos 

Cycle Touring Laos (3)

966 Kilometres – 14 Days
26 June – 9 July 2016

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FLIP-BOOK

VOICEOVER

 

Prologue

There’s a unique anticipation that comes with embarking on a bicycle journey—an openness to the unknown, a readiness to embrace discomfort, and a hope that the road will reveal something new about the world and oneself. Our 14-day, 966-kilometre ride through Laos was more than a physical challenge; it was a passage through landscapes, cultures, and moments that would shape our memories and perspectives long after the final kilometre. 

 

Udon Thani, Thailand to Vientiane, Laos (80 km)

The morning air in Udon Thani was thick with the scent of smoky BBQ stands as we pedalled towards the border. Tania’s infectious smile mirrored my own anticipation as we pedalled toward the border, pausing only for fresh coconut juice—a simple pleasure that set the tone for the days ahead.

Crossing the Friendship Bridge over the Mekong was a symbolic threshold. The $30 visa felt like a ticket to adventure, and the shift in atmosphere was immediate. French colonial architecture, the aroma of strong coffee, and the sight of baguettes stacked high in market stalls signalled our arrival in Vientiane. The city’s gentle pace was a balm after the rush of travel; we settled in, savouring green curry and cold Lao beer by the riverside, watching the city’s life unfold.

The next day, we wandered through ornate temples and the bustling morning market, absorbing the city’s blend of tradition and modernity. As the sun set, the riverside came alive—a communal celebration of food, conversation, and the simple joy of being outdoors.

The border crossing was more than a change of country; it was a reminder of how arbitrary lines shape lives and cultures. The warmth of Vientiane’s people and the city’s accessibility made me realise how travel by bicycle invites connection—every stop, every meal, every smile is an opportunity to engage.

 

Vientiane to Pak Ngum (71 km)

As we cycled out of Vientiane, we were drawn to Pha Luang, Laos’s most sacred monument. The legend of the Buddha’s breastbone, enclosed within its stupa, lent a sense of reverence to our departure. The road soon narrowed, flanked by rice fields and temples peeking from the forest. Children walked to school, their independence a testament to the safety and simplicity of rural life.

We stocked up on baguettes and bananas, noting the prevalence of new cars—a curious contrast to the rustic surroundings. The day’s ride was gentle, the scenery lush and welcoming. By early afternoon, we found bungalows nestled among green fields, a peaceful haven that encouraged us to slow down and appreciate the quiet beauty of the countryside.

Rural Laos offered a lesson in contentment. The absence of urgency, the rhythm of daily chores, and the hospitality of strangers reminded me that happiness often resides in simplicity.

 

Pak Ngum to Paksan (87 km)

Departing Pak Ngum came with a symphony of sights and sounds: mountains looming to the left, the Mekong glinting to the right, and villages where vendors offered dried and smoked fish with generous smiles. Children called “Sabai dee!” from stilted homes, and even the stray dogs seemed at peace.

We biked into Paksan with time to spare, grateful for the chance to shower and explore the riverside. The evening meal was a celebration of local flavours—a ritual that became a cherished part of each day.

The friendliness of the Lao people was striking. Their openness and curiosity made every interaction feel genuine, and I found myself reflecting on the power of small gestures—a wave, a greeting, a shared snack—to bridge cultural divides.

 

Paksan to Vieng Kham (90 km)

Rain greeted us at dawn, and we waited, hoping for a break in the weather. By mid-morning, the drizzle persisted, but we saddled up for the ride to Vieng Kham. The road grew muddier and more remote, with farmers tending cattle and planting rice in fields that seemed to stretch forever. Stalls sold petrol by the bottle and steamed duck eggs—a testament to resourcefulness.

Tania wasn’t feeling well, but refused to let it slow her down. The landscape became increasingly rural, and Google Maps proved useless—reminding us that some places remain untouched by digital mapping. Vieng Kham, though absent from any map, was sizable and welcoming, offering shelter and sustenance.

The day’s challenges underscored the unpredictability of travel. Yet, the willingness to adapt—to accept discomfort and uncertainty—became a source of resilience. I learned to trust the journey, even when the path was unclear.

 

Vieng Kham to Thakhek (108 km)

Thunderstorms were forecast, but the day dawned clear. Misty mountains framed the horizon, and the road wound through forests and villages where innovation thrived—two-wheel tractors transformed into multipurpose machines, and woven baskets carried the day’s harvest.

Markets were a feast for the senses, selling everything from unfamiliar meats to illegal wildlife. Rice planters worked knee-deep in water, their backs bent in silent endurance. Near Thakhek, we encountered the Great Wall of Laos—a geological wonder shrouded in myth.

A riverside hotel offered comfort, and dinner by the Mekong was a reward for the day’s effort.

The ingenuity of rural life was inspiring. People made do with what they had, adapting tools and traditions to meet their needs. The landscape, shaped by both nature and human hands, was a reminder of the delicate balance between progress and preservation.

 

Thakhek to Savannakhet (125 km)

Fatigue lingered from a restless night, but the road called. The terrain was undulating, and a steady breeze tested our resolve. Children filled the roads, enjoying school holidays, and temples stood as silent witnesses to centuries of faith.

A shortcut trimmed the route, but a minor accident left Tania bruised yet undeterred. Her resilience was a source of inspiration. Savannakhet welcomed us with convenient lodging near the night market.

Physical challenges are inevitable on a journey like this, but the true test is mental. The ability to push through discomfort, to find humour in mishaps, and to support each other made every setback a shared victory.

 

A day of rest in Savannakhet allowed for reflection and exploration. An early jog revealed ancient temples and colonial buildings, their faded grandeur hinting at stories untold. The dinosaur museum, though modest, offered a glimpse into the distant past, and a staff member’s guided tour bridged the language gap.

As we wandered the riverfront, I realised that rest days are essential—not just for the body, but for the mind. They offer space to absorb experiences, to notice details, and to appreciate the journey’s unfolding narrative.

 

Savannakhet to Muang Lakhonpheng (131 km)

Anticipating a long ride, we set out from Savannakhet early. The countryside was alive with activity—rice planting, children managing chores, and water buffalo grazing lazily. Villages provided respite, and the landscape was a patchwork of green paddies and colourful temples.

Lakhonpheng, though unmarked on maps, offered guesthouses. Our choice was less than ideal, but the discomfort was temporary—a reminder that not every day ends in luxury. Travel teaches flexibility. Plans change, expectations are challenged, and comfort becomes relative. The ability to adapt—to find joy in imperfection—is a skill honed on the road.

 

Muang Lakhonpheng to Pakse (112 km)

By morning, rain persisted, and we rode out under grey skies. A torn tyre was patched with duct tape, then replaced at a roadside shop—a stroke of luck that underscored the kindness of strangers. Pink water buffalo and mushroom vendors added colour to the journey, and the scent of wet, smoky wood mingled with damp earth.

By evening, we reached Pakse, hungry and grateful for a hot meal. The road is unpredictable, but generosity is a constant. The willingness of others to help—a spare tyre, a warm meal—reminded me that travel is as much about people as it is about places.

 

Pakse to Champasak (55 km)

The rain finally relented, and we cycled through vibrant rice fields and misty mountains. In Champasak, we stayed by the river and visited the Vat Phu ruins—a UNESCO World Heritage Site steeped in history. The ancient Khmer temple complex, set against Mount Phu Kao, was a highlight, followed by a sunset meal overlooking the Mekong.

Reflection: History is alive in Laos. The ruins, the temples, the rituals—they are threads in a tapestry that connects past and present. Cycling through these landscapes, I felt a sense of continuity, a reminder that every journey is part of a larger story.

 

Champasak to Don Khong Island (107 km)

A muddy track led to a ferry crossing and then south toward the Cambodian border. The Four Thousand Islands (Si Phan Don) beckoned, though a chaotic ferry landing nearly ended in disaster. Fortunately, all was well, and a riverside guesthouse provided comfort.

The next morning, we joined villagers at the market, sampling local snacks and enjoying the slow pace of island life. A boat trip upriver revealed riverside villages and fishermen at work—a fitting end to our adventure.

The islands were a place to pause, to savour the journey’s end. The rhythm of village life, the beauty of the river, and the camaraderie of shared meals made me grateful for the road travelled and the lessons learned.

 

Epilogue

Fourteen days and nearly a thousand kilometres later, Laos had left its mark: landscapes of green, resilient people, and a journey stitched together by the rhythm of cycling and discovery. The road was both a challenge and a gift—a reminder that adventure is not just about reaching a destination, but about embracing every moment along the way.

Final Reflection: Cycle touring in Laos was a lesson in humility, gratitude, and wonder. The country’s beauty lies not only in its scenery, but in its people, its history, and its ability to reveal the extraordinary in the everyday. As I look back, I realise that the actual journey was inward—a transformation shaped by the road, the rain, and the kindness encountered at every turn.

080 CYCLE TOURING THAILAND (7)

Land of Smiles, Roads of Trials: Cycling North Through Thailand

080 Thailand (7)
2,488 Kilometres – 46 Days
19 May – 25 June 2016

MAP

O80 PHOTOS

081 PHOTOS
 
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VOICEOVER

FLIP-BOOK

 

Prelude

Thailand arrived not as a single moment but as a slow unfurling—rubber plantations giving way to temples, quiet lanes opening into markets alive with colour, and the steady hum of my wheels threading me deeper into a country that greeted me with curiosity, kindness, and the occasional bewildered stare. I crossed the border with the easy confidence of someone who had cycled thousands of kilometres, unaware that this stretch would test me in ways the road never had.

Ahead lay palm‑cake mornings, monsoon afternoons, unexpected festivals, and the gentle generosity of strangers. But woven through the beauty was something darker—an invisible mosquito‑borne twist that would reshape the journey entirely. Thailand would offer joy, challenge, and revelation in equal measure, and I pedalled into it with my usual stubborn optimism, not yet knowing how much I would need it.

 

 

Alor Setar, Malaysia to Hat Yai, Thailand (106 km)

Today was a remarkably quiet day on the road—so quiet, in fact, that not a single person asked, “How old ARE you?” I suppose my aura was emanating a clear message: “Don’t even think about it!” The ride to the border was smooth and uneventful, and the crossing into Thailand was a breeze. As per my usual routine, I picked up a local SIM card and withdrew some cash from the ATM before embarking on a 57-kilometre ride that whisked me straight into the heart of Hat Yai.

The area around the railway station was buzzing with life and offered plenty of budget-friendly accommodation. I settled on the Park Hotel, where I snagged a sizable room for just 350 Thai Baht (around $10). The place came equipped with Wi-Fi and a bathroom—perfect for recharging.

 

Hat Yai to Phatthalung (110 km)

Leaving Hat Yai, I took to the scenic rural routes that wound through the countryside, and to my surprise, the day unfolded into one of excitement and charm. Cycling through these quiet streets meant I was anything but invisible; my bike and I must have been quite the sight, especially as I navigated the busy Friday market. It was evident that I had strayed well off the typical tourist path; not only were the road signs exclusively in Thai, but my presence sent waves of curious stares through the crowd, particularly from the children, who seemed both fascinated and slightly terrified by the sight of this foreign cyclist.

The villagers warned me that reaching Bangkok by bicycle was nearly impossible—perhaps they thought I was biting off more than I could chew! Even the typically unruly dogs didn’t seem interested in giving chase, which was a relief. One charming highlight along the way was the “reading tree,” where a pair of communal reading glasses hung from a branch, inviting folks to stop and read in the shade.

My ride today took me past sprawling rubber-tree plantations, quaint villages, and a stunning array of temples. The weather danced between sunny intervals and sudden downpours, but I was fortunate to find convenient shelter just as the rain poured. By the time I rolled into Phatthalung around 5 p.m., I was soaked to the bone but happy.

I quickly found a place to rest and wasted no time heading to the night market. Never go to a night market on an empty stomach! I quickly learned that lesson as I indulged in an irresistible feast of street food. However, my excitement took a little hit when I discovered that it was a Buddhist holiday, which meant no beer was on offer. Oh well, sometimes you have to accept the little bumps in the road. Sigh!

 

Phatthalung to Thung Song (90 km)

It was one of those days when frustration spilt over; a crucial document I had dispatched via DHL from India stubbornly refused to reach Cape Town. More than two weeks later, it was still missing in action—nada, nothing, niks! My attempts to track it brought nothing but annoyance as the status read “number not activated.” Searching online for a DHL contact in Kochi felt like searching for a needle in a haystack. Customer Care was a bust, too. The only lifeline I had was to email Henry at Kevin’s Homestay, my previous stop. In the meantime, I scoured the area for a courier service to resend the document, since the nearest DHL office was a whopping 220 kilometres away in Krabi. Arghh!

The next morning, as I strapped on my helmet and adorned my handlebars with a flower garland, I pushed forward, cap pulled low, determined to keep pedalling north. Just before reaching the Krabi turn-off, something magical happened: a lifeline in my inbox! Henry not only sent me the DHL contact but also went to the post office, spoke with the staff, and unearthed all the details regarding my elusive document—including a new tracking number. There are truly remarkable people in this world!

To my astonishment, the document eventually reached Cape Town but remained stuck in limbo until I coughed up an additional fee. Seriously? I wondered how long they would have kept me in the dark about it! It’s hard to express just how grateful I was to Henry for his efforts.

Venturing off the typical tourist pathways, I realised English wasn’t widely spoken here. I felt it acutely at the hotel where communication was more of a charade. Still, Tung Song turned out to be a perfect spot to unwind for the night and sort everything out.

I spent a whole day in Thung Song double-checking that everything was finally in order. The highlight? A non-stop eating spree! My food journey started at the morning market and morphed into an all-day affair culminating at the lively night market. During the day, I stumbled onto an incredible festival! Devotees made their way to the temple, some with their cheeks pierced by metal spikes, all while dancers twirled energetically around them. And let’s not forget the fireworks that lit up the night sky—talk about a spectacle!

Yet, as the sun dipped lower, I felt an unwelcome weakness creeping in. A fever swept over me, and with it came aches and an upset stomach that nudged me into a spiral of worry—dengue fever, perhaps? The night turned into a restless battle, and by 3:30 AM, sleep finally found me. I awoke to a surprising racket at 6:30 and, to my relief, realised my fever had dissipated. How strange it was that such intensity melted away overnight!

Not feeling my best, I thought about ordering a simple pizza instead of my usual fried noodles, but that turned out to be a bit of a challenge. In the end, I surrendered to tradition and went for the classic fried noodles instead.

Later, I received news that my document from India had finally been traced and arrived at its destination. Hallelujah!

 

Thung Song to Surat Thani (110 km)

A fellow traveller once asked if cycle touring still ignited that spark after nine years. Amazingly, each new destination held the same thrill as my very first ride. Every day was an adventure, and, weather permitting, I wore a grin that made me feel like one of the luckiest people alive. Sure, cycling isn’t always a walk in the park—there are days filled with challenges and the inevitable saddle sores, but who doesn’t experience ups and downs in life?

After two restful days, I felt recharged. Not even the relentless rain or pesky roadworks could dampen my spirit. It was pouring, yet I clipped in my flashing lights to boost my visibility and zipped toward Surat Thani. I must have caught a tailwind because I was flying like never before! At last, I secured a cosy spot near the Route 44 and 41 intersections, allowing me a hot shower and dry clothes. What a glorious day of cycling it turned out to be!

 

Surat Thani District to Roadside Cottage (110 km)

Another 110-kilometre adventure waited for me on the winding roads from Surat Thani. The weather was surprisingly cool, with just a drizzle to keep things interesting. It felt like I was flying along the tarmac, even if in reality I was moving at my usual snail's pace!

Along the way, I encountered some truly lovely people. First, a friendly lady tempted me with her steamed palm cakes, and let me tell you—what a treat! They were fluffy, warm, and delicious. My next delightful stop was at a coconut vendor. This wasn't just any coconut; it contained a shell filled with jelly that was as refreshing as it was unique. To my shock, she refused any payment! Her kindness added a sweet touch to the day.

Finally spotted cosy chalets in the distance. They were reasonably priced and came with a small shop stocked with crisps, beer, and cup noodles—perfect for unwinding after a long day. I couldn’t help but smile; everything was falling into place.

 

Roadside Cottage to Chumphon (90 km)

The rain had been relentless throughout the night, and it was still drizzling when morning rolled around. Not one to linger, I donned my improvised plastic raincoat (cut down for easier cycling) and pedalled off toward Chumphon, eager for what the day might hold. Luckily, the heavens soon cleared, transforming the dreary morning into a beautiful day for biking.

Breakfast was a delight as I stumbled upon ladies once again peddling those heavenly steamed palm cakes. This wasn’t just a meal; it was a taste of Thai tradition, setting a bright tone for the day ahead. It’s no wonder Thailand is known as the "Land of Smiles"—the warmth radiated from every fruit seller and even from the plastic bottle collectors I passed by. Their smiles were infectious!

Chumphon awaited me with its Farang Bar, a little rundown yet surprisingly charming. The rooms were basic, but for the price, I couldn't complain—just the right kind of rustic charm after a long day.

During the day, I noticed a worrying wobble in my wheel, which led me on a mini adventure to find a bike shop. But first, food! In Thailand, the aroma of street food wafts through the air like a siren’s call, guiding you toward culinary bliss.

At last, I found a bike shop, but the language barrier turned my quest into a game of charades! Despite the communication challenges, I stumbled upon an astonishing spread of dim sum nearby. Who needs a perfect fix for a bike when you have a feast like that waiting to be savoured? Sometimes, unexpected detours offer the best memories.

It’s a curious phenomenon: walk into a shop in Thailand, and more often than not, the response is a resigned "Don't have." That was my first taste of the frustrations woven into the fabric of communication in this beautiful yet challenging foreign land. Sorting out my wheel problem became a small adventure in itself. After a bit of persistence, I finally tracked down a second-hand rim that I hoped would carry me reliably all the way to Bangkok. Along the way, I also found a keyboard for my laptop, which had decided to stop recognising the bottom row of keys... just my luck! I had really thought the Mercury retrograde was behind me by now.

The day wrapped up with a half-hearted attempt to clean the gooey road muck off my bike and tackle the laundry. My water bottles, which had transformed into tiny ecosystems filled with fungi, needed desperate attention. I couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for the French couple next door. The lady had fallen ill with dengue fever, leaving her looking worse for wear. It was a stark reminder of the unpredictability of travel.

 

Chumphon to Thungwualaen Beach (20 km)

The ride from Chumphon to Thungwualaen Beach—just 20 kilometres—was a breezy journey to one of my favourite spots along the coast. Yet, as I arrived, I couldn’t shake off a sense of forlornness that hung over the place. Still, I managed to secure a cosy room for 300 baht. Ironically, the presence of mysterious droppings and a gnawed hole in the table suggested I wasn't the first guest to inhabit the space!

 

Thungwualaen Beach to Bang Saphan Beach (95 km)

Lethargy clung to me as I pressed on, passing countless inviting beachside accommodations, each just a stone’s throw from the water. The road was a tapestry of colourful temples, each one more ornate and colourful than the last. Among them, I marvelled at one that showcased a striking Buddha, sheltered by a multi-headed king cobra- it is said that the cobra protected the Buddha during his enlightenment.

My route hugged the coastline, the newly resurfaced road providing a smooth ride alongside a dedicated bike lane. Crossing numerous rivers, I passed fishing boats crammed together, a picturesque scene of commerce along the water's edge. The air was thick with the mouth-watering aroma of grilled fish and other culinary delights wafting from mobile carts, creating a hungry rumble in my stomach.

I reached Bang Saphan Beach earlier than expected, even with the hills adding a bit of a workout to the day—quite a rarity in the flat expanse of southern Thailand! I decided to linger a little longer, as I had plenty of time to reach Bangkok, where I was to meet Tania for a six-week touring adventure through Southeast Asia.

With some time on my hands, I laced up my running shoes and hit the beach for a jog. However, the stretch was relatively short, only about five or six kilometres. By early morning, the heat was already intense, and I could feel the locals' eyes on me, perhaps wondering why this mad foreigner was running when a perfectly good bicycle was nearby. After all, Thais typically gravitate towards indoor sports like badminton, table tennis, and the ever-popular Muay Thai. The sight of a person running would undoubtedly raise a few eyebrows!

 

Bang Saphan Beach to Prachaup Khiri Khan (93 km)

Emerging from a fitful night’s sleep, the exhaustion was no surprise after a relentless battle against a horde of cockroaches. The moment the lights dimmed, they sprang to life! Armed with a sandal, I embarked on a comedic chase—these little critters were quick, darting around like they were in a race.

As dawn broke, I found myself fleeing Bang Saphan with a gang of dogs hot on my heels, and it felt like I was leading a cartoonish escape, with cockroaches trailing behind for good measure! With my elbows flared and determination in my grip, I sped away on my bike, leaving the entire neighbourhood’s canines yearning for a piece of the action. Thankfully, a narrow path veered off, and they eventually lost interest.

The ride to Prachuap was nothing short of magical. The road wound gracefully along the coastline, with low-key bungalows peeking shyly behind bougainvillaea and fragrant frangipanis, creating a picturesque paradise. The only sign of life was often a solitary hammock, gently swinging between two palm trees, whispering of pure bliss.

This rural landscape was alive with colourful scenes: chickens dashing across the path, fishermen skilfully manoeuvring small dugout canoes, and temples rising majestically amidst the greenery. Snakes slithered in the underbrush as if competing for Thailand’s reptilian title—thankfully, I managed to dodge them all. The weather loomed dark and threatening, yet I pressed on, wondering whether I could outpace the brewing storm. Amazingly, I rode into my destination completely dry. Reflecting on the day, it was a win—avoiding dogs, snakes, and rain was a triumphant feat, though I still had a beef with those cheeky cockroaches. Seriously, I’m not making this up!

The next morning greeted me with bright sunshine—a perfect day for a jog. The promenade stretched for several kilometres, inviting me to soak in the scenery. I ran past the pier and a troop of monkeys frolicking around, eventually arriving at the steps of the Khao Chong Krachok hill temple. Staying at Maggie's Homestay was a delightful stroke of luck; not only was it incredibly affordable, but the atmosphere was warm and welcoming. Consequently, I decided to linger for another day, especially with rumours circulating about impending torrential rain.

 

Prachuap Khiri Khun to Khao Sam Roi National Park (70 km)

Chilling at Maggie’s Homestay was pure bliss, a delightful mix of laughter and shared tales from fellow wanderers. Most of them were long-term visitors, fully immersing themselves in Thailand's beautiful chaos. With a cold beer in hand, I wrestled with the idea of extending my stay for another day—tempting, but the call of adventure was too strong to resist. So, I hopped on my bike and set off toward the stunning Khao Sam Roi National Park.

As I pedalled down the scenic route, I encountered a charming family whose smiles made my heart sing—a mom, dad, and their three kids, ages one to six, all cycling together in harmony. What a sight! The mom was a real superhero, with the littlest one in a baby seat on her handlebars while the middle child was on the back of her bicycle. Dad was riding confidently in a recumbent bike with the eldest, and I couldn't help but tip my hat to their adventurous spirit. That’s family bonding at its most inspiring!

Continuing along the serene riverside, I stumbled upon a quaint little spot that beckoned me for a break. Without hesitation, I followed the path to the legendary Phraya Nakhon Cave. Reaching it was an adventure in itself: cycling to the shore, hopping on a boat to navigate around the headland, and then hiking up a steep path that promised breathtaking views. When I finally stepped inside the cave, I was greeted by a stunning temple that would have looked even more magical with sunlight streaming in. Unfortunately, I arrived too late for that majestic display.

 

Khao Sam Roi National Park to Cha-Am (80 km)

Dragging myself out from under the luxurious white linen sheets was an unexpected struggle, especially considering I rarely find such comfort on my travels. In Thailand's sweltering heat and humidity, who needs blankets, right?

With my African beats blaring, I launched into the hills of the National Park, my spirit soaring. I debated spending the night in Hua Hin, but the prospect of Cha-Am offered me a pleasant detour. Initially, I thought about skipping it, but knowing Bangkok was just two days away kept pushing me forward. Plus, I had a tick to contend with—though the risk of tick-bite fever seemed low, I wasn't keen on those little pests taking residence with me. And the whispers of rabid dogs in the area only added another layer of discomfort to my journey.

 

Cha-Am to Samut Songkhram (90 km)

The ride from Cha-Am to Samut Songkhram unfolded like a beautiful tapestry, colourful and alive with sights and sounds. As I pedalled through the varied landscape, I found myself enchanted by the charming food and drink stalls that dotted the route. Each stop was a little adventure, with tantalising smells wafting through the air—crab fishing was clearly the day’s highlight, as nearly every vendor had succulent cooked crab on display.

The road was well-maintained, complete with a dedicated cycle lane, making my journey not just safe but utterly enjoyable. Despite the blistering heat, I arrived in Samut Songkhram early, feeling exhilarated yet exhausted. My first stop was Hometown Hostel, a great spot that welcomed me with modern air-conditioned dorms, pristine bathrooms, and staff who greeted me like an old friend.

Once I unpacked, I couldn't resist the allure of the markets, already pulsating with activity. Samut Songkhram is home to the unique railway market, where vendors set up shop right on the tracks. It’s a wild sight—canopies swiftly dismantled whenever a train approaches, only to have everything reassembled like magic once it passes.

 

Samut Songkhram to Bangkok (90 km)

One of the greatest joys of cycle touring is discovering the hidden gems of rural life, especially in a lively city like Bangkok. As I navigated the tranquil outskirts, I was amazed by the serenity of the rivers and canals, where people lived and thrived alongside the water. Longtail boats served as makeshift taxi stands, and I encountered fascinating characters along the way—a broom-and-feather-duster salesman, an elephant carer—but our conversations were brief yet memorable.

However, around midday, the joyous ride took a sharp turn. An unsettling fever hit me like a freight train, wrapping my body in a heavy shroud of aches—from my hair follicles to my ankles. My energy evaporated, but I clung to my mantra: "I’ll reach my destination if I keep moving forward." The last 20 kilometres felt like an endless torment, and I resorted to counting the kilometres to distract myself.

As if battling my own body wasn’t enough, the traffic chaos in Bangkok was relentless—construction of a new Skytrain turned the streets into a maze of frustration. When I finally arrived, I made a beeline for my old go-to guesthouse—only to find it had vanished without a trace. Depleted, I accepted the first available room, collapsing onto the bed, trembling and violently ill.

In the days that followed, my condition took a turn for the worse. I learned the hard way about dengue fever—a mosquito-borne affliction that brought along a suite of wretched symptoms: high fever, relentless body aches, debilitating headaches, and nausea that made eating seem like a cruel joke. It felt as though even the slightest movement sent shockwaves through my body, each pang delivering a reminder of my vulnerable state.

Medications available managed only the symptoms, so I stocked up on painkillers and anti-nausea tablets, hoping for a reprieve. I lost track of time, drifting in and out of sleep, feeling as if I had succumbed to a cruel twist of fate. When I finally woke, I realised I was a shadow of my former self, having lost half my body weight in the process. Despite the silver lining of weight loss, I wouldn’t recommend dengue fever as a weight loss program to anyone.

With Tania’s arrival just days away, the irony was not lost on me—I was too weak to even walk to the corner store, let alone embark on a thrilling cycle tour across Southeast Asia. At that moment, the exhilarating journey I had promised her felt like a distant memory, overshadowed by this unexpected twist in my adventure.

 

Tania’s Arrival in Bangkok

The day Tania arrived, I felt a surge of energy—I was finally on the mend after battling dengue fever for far too long. Breakfast, which had been a struggle, went down smoothly, and I even indulged in a much-needed cup of coffee.

Tania arrived around midday, and I was immediately impressed by her packing prowess; she had expertly crammed all her essentials into a bike box and a single other bag. I could tell right away that she knew her stuff.

With my health improving, I was eager to get back into cycling shape and embark on our Southeast Asian adventure. Before hitting the trails, we decided to explore Bangkok’s bustling streets. Wandering through quaint pedestrian lanes, sampling street food, and immersing ourselves in the city's chaos felt like the perfect way to reconnect with the world outside my illness.

 

Bangkok to Historic Ayutthaya (83 km)

After two days of city exploration, my excitement to leave Bangkok bubbled over—my rundown accommodation was starting to wear on me. Fortune smiled upon us as we were able to set off earlier than expected; the weather was lovely, and the traffic was surprisingly manageable.

Cycling out of Bangkok is famously tricky, but Tania navigated it with ease, as we made our way through the urban jungle and onto a serene rural path along a canal. The scenery transformed as we pedalled past lush green rice paddies and charming eateries that beckoned with the promise of delicious local dishes.

As we approached Ayutthaya, the ancient capital of the Kingdom of Siam, the anticipation grew. We stumbled upon a picturesque old wooden schoolhouse, nestled in expansive grounds, that would be our cosy refuge for the night.

The following day was nothing short of magical. We spent hours wandering among the hauntingly beautiful ruins that tell stories of a glorious past. Founded around 1350, Ayutthaya was once the thriving heart of Asian trade, strategically located between China, India, and the Malay Archipelago. By 1700, it was the world’s largest city, bustling with a population of a million. Yet, its splendour was abruptly shattered in 1767 when it fell to invading Burmese forces, leaving behind a poignant echo of its history.

As we strolled through the sprawling ruins on the UNESCO World Heritage list, I felt a profound sense of privilege to witness such a testament to human endeavour and resilience. Each crumbling temple and toppled statue whispered tales of glory and loss, making our exploration truly unforgettable.

 

Ayutthaya to Lopburi (63 km)

As we kicked off our second day of cycling under a moderately overcast sky, the air was warm, hovering between 30 and 34 degrees Celsius. A perfect day for adventure awaited us in Thailand, a land brimming with captivating sights. Our journey began with a unique encounter at an elephant kraal. The massive elephants, adorned in colourful, traditional garb, were busy preparing for a day of tourist rides with their devoted mahouts. As we pedalled by, I felt an overwhelming sense of admiration for these magnificent beings, a stark reminder of nature's splendour amid the chaotic city we had just left behind.

Next up was a wonderfully quirky temple, eccentric in its design, boasting a colossal dragon—or perhaps a dragon's tail—enveloping the entire property. Countless small paths guided us toward Lopburi, turning our ride into an enjoyable exploration. On our way, a warm-hearted local lady waved us down and offered a bag of bananas. Her gesture of kindness fuelled our spirits and carried us through the kilometres.

As we cycled through the countryside, it was nearly impossible to pass through villages without drawing curious glances. Locals, slack-jawed and shy kids, alongside watchful dogs, observed our journey, showcasing the friendliness and curiosity of the communities we encountered. Our route led us past towering Buddha statues, elaborately decorated temples, and lush bamboo forests, all while the irresistible scent of exotic snacks wafted from roadside carts.

Upon arriving in Lopburi, we were drawn to the charming Noom Guest House, where we quickly settled in and ventured out to explore the town's rich history. Lopburi is an ancient gem, filled with remnants of bygone eras within a short walk. Yet, woven into the fabric of this old city was the vivacious energy of everyday Thai life—and a lively troop of monkeys. Visiting the Monkey Temple was a highlight; it was fascinating to observe the similarities between their family dynamics and ours. I could have spent hours simply watching them play and interact.

Tania took to life on two wheels effortlessly, almost as if it were natural! No sooner had she washed her shirt than she had it strung up to dry, embracing every moment of our ride.

 

Lopburi to Pak Chong (103 km)

The morning air was thick with the smoky aroma of breakfast BBQs as we rolled out of Lopburi, a place that surprised us with its busy, lively atmosphere. We navigated through the city's limits, and once free of the urban sprawl, we found ourselves on serene farm tracks, weaving through the picturesque countryside, dotted with quaint hamlets. Even the stray dogs here seemed to understand the need for personal space, reacting swiftly to our authoritative “voetsek” and wisely keeping their distance.

However, our journey took an unexpected turn when a rural road spat us out onto a busy highway—quite the jolt after the tranquillity we had just enjoyed! Tackling the hilly terrain under the relentless midday sun was tough, but we pressed on. The grind of uphill pedalling eventually paid off as we raced down a steep descent into Pak Chong, hitting nearly 60 km/h and feeling the rush of cool air as clouds gathered overhead.

Arriving in Pak Chong marked the end of our day’s ride, especially as the sight of washing machines came into view—a welcome sight for someone like me who hadn’t done laundry since leaving Bangkok!

 

Pak Chong to Starwell Bali (107 km)

After a restful night in our cosy accommodation, we set off past numerous workshops crafting statues of Buddhas in all shapes, sizes, and colours. The air was infused with the sweet aroma of exotic fruits as we glided through quaint villages, where homes sat amid fluorescent-green rice fields, painting an idyllic picture.

One of the most delightful surprises of the day was stumbling upon an elephant patiently waiting for a ride at a bus stop—a truly unforgettable sight that could only happen in Thailand!

Once again, we found ourselves on less-travelled roads, meandering through lush farmlands until our path unexpectedly veered into a muddy trail. When it ultimately faded away, it left us with no option but to backtrack.

Opting to bypass Nakhon Ratchasima, we discovered a charming retreat of wooden chalets set amid greenery. It was the perfect invitation to unwind and savour the beauty of our surroundings.

 

Starwell Bali to Phimai - 60 km

"Did you see the weather?" Tania asked, her frown deepening as we stepped outside to face an unrelenting downpour. Just as quickly as it arrived, though, the rain dissipated, leaving behind a stunningly clear sky that promised an enjoyable ride to Phimai. We were eager to delve into the wonders of Prasat Hin Phimai, one of Thailand's grandest and most significant religious sanctuaries.

We found ourselves at the delightful Phimai Paradise House, a charming hostel with beautiful wooden floors and lofty ceilings—a perfect refuge for our adventures. Once settled in, the seductive allure of the ancient ruins tugged at our curiosity, and we couldn’t resist exploring.

Dating back to the 11th–12th centuries, Phimai was a vital hub during its heyday, and inscriptions on one of its doors revealed its roots in the ancient Khmer Empire. The fact that these temples were built a century before Cambodia's famous Angkor Wat fascinated me. Phimai stood proudly as one of the westernmost outposts along the Khmer Empire's sacred highway, a testament to a storied past. I felt an exhilarating rush of gratitude for our detour—this place was a hidden gem!

After soaking in the grandeur of the ruins, we hopped on our bikes and headed to Sai Ngam to meet the legendary 350-year-old Banyan tree. On our way back, we couldn't resist stopping at the night market, where we stumbled upon a delicious surprise: an ant salad that became a culinary highlight of the day!

 

Phimai was irresistibly charming, a tranquil village where time seemed to slow down. So, we decided to extend our stay by another day. The morning sun beckoned, and we set out for a jog, relishing the peaceful surroundings. But as if nature had a lesson for me, I realised I hadn’t fully recovered from dengue fever, which had sapped my energy.

The rest of the day turned into a blend of productivity and personal moments. I caught up on chores—organising photos, tackling laundry, and finally making those long-overdue phone calls. During my stroll, I encountered an inspiring local: a retired photographer, 78 years young, whose eyes sparkled with untamed passion for his craft. His impressive collection of antique cameras sparked a delightful conversation. He asked me to take a photo of him, framed by a self-portrait he had snapped 50 years earlier. In that simple moment, I was reminded that every corner of this world whispers stories waiting to be told.

Before I knew it, the sun dipped below the horizon, and it was time to dive back into the energy of the night market, where delicious aromas danced in the air.

 

Phimai to Ban Phai (119 km)

We set off early, invigorated by a blanket of clouds that made for easy pedalling. Our route wove through the heart of northern Thailand, unveiling picturesque rural landscapes where tiny villages peeked out from golden fields, each with a local temple and grazing buffaloes.

A dirt path led us to an extraordinary community of silk weavers. As we approached, the air buzzed with creativity; women worked diligently, hand-weaving silk threads with an artistry that transcended language. Although words failed us, their smiles spoke volumes as they welcomed us into their world.

As we meandered further, the scenery transformed dramatically. Beyond the tarmac, we found ourselves in a lively no-man's land, where villagers were busy harvesting gorgeous lotus flowers and seeds. Just before we reached Ban Phai, we stumbled upon a thriving bee farming operation. Vendors lined the streets, their stalls overflowing with golden honey and honeycombs—the sweetest of surprises!

Despite its small size, the quaint village of Ban Phai offered a surprisingly modern hotel, where we settled in for the night. Without hesitation, we ventured out to the mobile food carts, eager to indulge in our daily fix of steaming noodle soup, the perfect ending to a beautiful day of exploration.

 

Ban Phai to Khao Suan Kwang (115 km)

The night was a symphony of relentless rain, but by dawn, the skies cleared, revealing a stunning day ahead for our ride to Khao Suan Kwang. Not far into our journey, a sign caught our eyes: “King Cobra Village.” Intrigued, we veered onto a picturesque rural path, excitement bubbling inside us. The farm trails twisted and turned in perfect harmony, promising an unforgettable biking adventure. Yet my Google Maps had other ideas; it stubbornly stuck to "walk" directions, leading us through narrow back roads and the occasional backyard. At times, the route disappeared entirely, turning our ride into a delightful treasure hunt. Despite the confusion, I thrive on these unpredictable journeys, and this one was no exception.

As we pedalled through the lush landscapes, the sweet scent of tradition filled the air. Locals were drying thin strips of meat in the sun—known as "Pork One Sun," a cherished Thai delicacy—while others invited us to join their lunch spread. We couldn’t resist the warmth of their hospitality, and we enjoyed fleeting moments with the farmers as they tended their fields and buffalo.

Our anticipation for King Cobra Village was palpable, but reality struck when we arrived and found it was more of a tourist trap than a village. The cobras, their mouths sadly tied shut, were forced to perform for visitors. Despite this disappointment, the ride through the countryside was a feast for the senses, with nature's beauty all around.

As we rode on, we stumbled across a quaint “resort” that must have been a gem in its prime but now lay in ruins—its potential overshadowed by neglect. Later, we found a curious 24-hour establishment. Though it typically rented rooms by the hour, we managed to haggle a decent rate. Tania was taken aback by the state of our room, which featured only one massive bed. It was snug, but sometimes you just have to embrace the charm of the unexpected.

 

Khao Suan Kwang to Udong Thani - 68 km

Our ride to Udong Thani was a breeze—an easy and enjoyable day on the bike. Just when we thought the day couldn’t get any better, a watermelon vendor surprised us with a pre-sliced treat that was pure bliss. When she refused to take any money, we felt compelled to show our gratitude by purchasing 3-in-1 coffee sachets to share. It might not have equalled the value of her gift, but the thought mattered.

The scenery was nothing short of enchanting; butterflies danced around us as we glided past sprawling cassava and sugarcane fields. Along the way, we stopped at a serene monastery, snapped some photos, and exchanged a few pleasant words with the monks. Our next stop was a durian vendor, where Tania took a brave leap into sampling Thailand’s legendary yet controversial fruit.

Further down the road, we spotted Thai ladies fishing in expansive ponds, employing earthworms as bait but with little luck—perhaps the fish weren’t fans. Tania couldn’t resist joining in, but her fortune mirrored theirs.

As we approached the lively city of Udon Thani, we passed more monasteries and lakes with fishing platforms that looked much more promising than those at previous stops. We treated ourselves to a delicious local speciality: sticky rice cooked in bamboo tubes, known as kao lam in Thailand and lemang in Malaysia. The rich, bean-and-coconut-milk-infused flavour was a delightful end to our day.

Upon arrival in Udon Thani, we checked into the budget-friendly King’s Hotel, which boasted a cavernous double room complete with an en-suite While I had some pressing tasks, Tania was thrilled to stock up on hard-to-find supplies in Laos.

 

Udon Thani, Thailand to Vientiane, Laos (80 km)

Tania’s excitement was electric as we set off for Laos. “I can’t stop smiling!” she beamed, her voice brimming with joy as we rode past smoky breakfast BBQ stands, the aroma of grilled meats and spices teasing our senses. Eager to cross into Laos, we only paused once to refresh ourselves with the cool sweetness of coconut juice—a perfect antidote to the warm sun.

At the Thailand-Laos border, a $30 visa opened the gates to a new adventure. Crossing the Friendship Bridge over the mighty Mekong River was a moment to behold—a stark reminder of the contrasting worlds that lie on opposite sides of a border, shaped by complex geopolitical histories.

As we entered Laos, the influence of French colonialism became vividly apparent, especially in the architecture around us. The air was thick with the intoxicating scent of fresh baguettes and coffee, drawing me back to echoes of a past era. I withdrew a hefty 1,500,000 Laos kip, feeling as though my wallet might burst at the seams under the weight of the local currency.

The journey continued, and with each pedal stroke, I could feel the thrill of new adventures awaiting us in this beautiful land.

 

Epilogue

By the time I reached Bangkok, the road had stripped me bare—fevered, trembling, and suddenly fragile in a way cycling had never made me feel. Dengue fever arrived like a thief, stealing strength, appetite, and days I can barely remember. Yet even in that haze, Thailand held me gently: quiet guesthouse rooms, street vendors who smiled despite my weakness, and the slow return of appetite that felt like a small miracle.

When Tania stepped off the plane, her arrival felt like a turning point—a reminder that journeys evolve, and sometimes the road insists on rest before it allows you to continue. I emerged lighter, slower, but grateful, ready to trade solitude for companionship as we set our wheels toward Ayutthaya and beyond.

Thailand had given me beauty, challenge, illness, and recovery. It had taken something and returned something else. And as I rolled north once more, I carried both with me.

078 & 079 CYCLE TOURING SINGAPORE (2) & MALAYSIA (3)

 Riding the Peninsula

SINGAPORE (2) & MALAYSIA (3)
1,030 Kilometres – 36 Days
13 April – 19 April 2016

MAP

PHOTOS - SINGAPORE

 PHOTOS

VOICEOVER

PDF

FLIP-BOOK

  

The chapter that leads straight to Thailand’s border and beyond.

 

Prelude

Leaving Cape Town for Singapore felt like stepping back into the familiar hum of the road—the airports, the heat, the small rituals of transit that mark the start of a 1,030-kilometre ride. Asia had always been a gentle place to begin again, and this stretch through Singapore and Malaysia would become a mix of humidity, kindness, small frustrations, and steady northbound movement. It was the quiet beginning of a journey that hadn’t yet revealed its shape.

 

Singapore

 

Cape Town, South Africa – Singapore (by plane)

Even though I didn't manage to cross everything off my to-do list, it was finally time to hit the road again. It wasn't until mid-April that I bid farewell to beautiful Cape Town and embarked on a long flight to Singapore with layovers in Dubai and Colombo, Sri Lanka.

My ultimate destination was Bangkok, where I planned to meet up with my friend, Tania, for a two-month cycling adventure across Asia. The goal was to pedal our way through Southeast Asia from Bangkok, through Laos and Cambodia, and back to Bangkok. I've always felt that Asia is the perfect destination for beginner cycle tourists—with easy access to food and accommodation and relatively gentle terrain.

The flight wasn’t too bad as long-haul flights go, except I had a six-hour layover in Colombo. Moreover, it was the Tamil New Year, a public holiday in Sri Lanka. As a result, heaps of free fruit, tea, coconut milk and rice cakes were offered. The rice cakes were lovely, especially when served with a potent chilli paste.

As the wheels of the plane touched down on the tarmac in Singapore, I couldn't help but feel a jolt of excitement at the thought of immersing myself in a whole new world. Stepping into the bustling airport, I was surrounded by a vibrant mix of cultures and nationalities, each adding its own unique flavour to the atmosphere.

After grabbing some local currency, I made a beeline for a SIM card and then hailed a taxi to whisk me away to Tree in Lodge Hostel, a gem known for its warm welcome to cyclists like me.

Upon arrival, the hostel owner, SK, greeted me with a genuine smile, despite the late hour. It turns out he's a dedicated cyclist who once pedalled all the way from Finland to Singapore. He even went out of his way to help me lug my bike and gear inside. His kindness instantly made me feel at home in this unfamiliar, yet fascinating, land.

The next morning, I emerged from my cosy hostel room well past midday. I set off through the immaculate streets and orderly suburbs of Singapore, heading to vibrant Chinatown.

The place was a feast for the senses, with enticing aromas wafting from street food stalls and an array of intriguing dried goods on display - from seahorses to flying lizards. Among the gleaming skyscrapers, the old Chinese shophouses stood proudly, showcasing their bright colours and intricate designs.

After indulging in a delightful feast of pau and dim sum, I returned to the hostel to tackle the task of assembling my bike. As each piece came together, I couldn't help but feel anticipation for the adventure ahead. Cycling north was top of the agenda, and I couldn’t wait to get going.

By morning, a roommate informed me of a free tour of the Parliament House, and I jumped at the chance. After hastily downing a coffee, I set off for a day filled with history, stunning architecture, and mouth-watering food. As I strolled along the Singapore River, I passed by intriguing art displays, watched tourists savouring meals at riverside restaurants, and observed busy Singaporeans hurrying to and from work.

Later, I headed back to the hostel to grab my tripod for some night-time photography, but my plans took an unexpected turn when two cyclists showed up, and we ended up spending the evening chatting over a few beers. It turned into a lively and social night without me even leaving the hostel!

I ended up staying there for two extra days, and it was totally worth it! First off, I was on the hunt for a new laptop because mine was on the fritz, but I ended up deciding against it.

Then, at sunset, I took a leisurely stroll to the waterfront and was lucky enough to catch a glimpse of a spectacular laser show. I tried to capture the moment with some impromptu handheld shots, but I couldn't help wishing I had brought my tripod. It's always the way, isn't it?

 

Malaysia

 

Singapore – Johor Bahru, Malaysia - 40 km

As the sun rose, I found myself on the road to the Woodlands checkpoint, where I met up with SK for a refreshing cold drink. Shortly after, I crossed the border into Malaysia at the bustling and efficient Woodlands checkpoint. Malaysia was starting to feel like a second home to me.

Even though it was still early, I headed to Johor Bahru to experience all this country had to offer - finding an ATM, getting a local SIM card, and soaking in the atmosphere.

Johor Bahru was undergoing rapid transformation, evolving from a gritty border town into a vibrant, modern city. Sadly, the charming old neighbourhoods were giving way to shiny new malls and shopping centres, but I managed to find a room in an area where traditional eateries and local culture still thrived. I enjoyed a delicious curry and rice while watching toothless men play board games, sipping tea or Tiger beer. The flavours of the curry reminded me of why I loved Malaysian cuisine so much. It was a perfect way to end the day.

 

Johor Bahru to Pontian Kecil (60 km)

My windowless room was made for sleeping late, and the time was thus past 9h00 before emerging. The humid weather made my clothes cling to my sweat-soaked body long before I got on the bike.

Initially, I planned to take a smaller coastal path, but to my surprise, I found it had become a new highway, clearly indicating Malaysia's rapid development. This left me with little other option but to continue along the highway until I found a minor road. Despite this, the highway made for comfortable riding to Pontian Kecil, where an inexpensive hotel beckoned me to stay.

After checking in, a short stroll led me to a supermarket to buy food and other bits and bobs. However, the scorching heat made me scurry back to the coolness of my air-conditioned room. April is one of Malaysia's hottest months, and I could feel its intensity even indoors.

 

Pontian Kecil to Batu Pahat (70 km)

It must have been a scorching day as a kind lady on a motorbike pulled up beside me and offered me an ice-cold "100-Plus" sports drink. Her gesture was greatly appreciated, and I eagerly gulped it down. Feeling refreshed and grateful, I continued, but the midday heat remained unforgiving.

Later, a Malay man stopped and offered me a bottle of water. He also offered to give me a ride to Batu Pahat. He must have thought I was a bit crazy for biking in the heat, but he wished me well and continued.

The Warmshowers host I contacted the previous night never responded, so I stayed at the Garden Hotel. Still, it was a good day, and the kindness of strangers reminded me of the good in the world.

 

Batu Phat to Malacca (100 km)

My digs included breakfast, which came as a surprise. Then, following a decent plate of fried rice, the way led north to Malacca past plenty of stands to quench my thirst. Despite the scorching weather, I soldiered on and eventually arrived at bustling Malacca.

Malacca was home to Ringo’s Foyer Guest House and Warmshower host Howard. The place was a cool hostel where cycle tourists could stay overnight on the roof terrace for free.

The next morning, a jog along the river revealed an entirely new perspective of Malacca. The sweltering weather made me appreciate my rooftop spot, as it offered a slight breeze.

 

Malacca to Lukut (75 km)

The high humidity left me drenched before even getting underway. However, the day offered pleasant coastal riding. A humble stand provided breakfast at a fraction of the price in touristy Malacca. One could tell the day was unusually hot as even Muslim ladies were swimming in their burkas and all.

Seeing all those ladies in their wet burkas must’ve been a tad too much for this conservative society, and no sooner had my path left the coast than I came across a man masturbating by the roadside.

The oppressive heat made me opt for a pricey homestay, if only for the powerful air-con.

 

Lukut to Puchong (80 km)

My early departure was due to the heat, and I headed to Peter's place in Puchong, hoping to meet him and his family. The day turned out to be comfortable for riding, with the route taking me partly through palm oil plantations and partly along a busy road that passed the Malaysian Grand Prix circuit and airport.

Upon reaching Peter's place, I was greeted with a cold beer and a warm pie - what a lovely treat.

 

Peter arranged for me to stay in an apartment as the flatlet he usually used for Warmshowers guests was already occupied. Meanwhile, I made plans to fly to India to retrieve the package I had sent from there three months earlier. Unfortunately, the parcel had never left Kochi Post Office, so I had to go there myself. The box contained all of my “valuable” items, such as my sleeping bag, tent, and stove, so it was worth the effort to retrieve it.

Flight prices varied daily, and I was able to find the best-priced option for five days later, so I had a few days to relax. I spent most of my time lounging about, going for a morning jog, and strolling to the shops to buy food.

 

Puchong, Malaysia to Kochi, India

Peter kindly drove me to the airport at the ungodly hour of 3:00 a.m. as my flight was scheduled to depart at 6:00 a.m. The flight was uneventful and lasted for 4 hours. We arrived in Kochi, India, at 7:00 a.m.

I stayed at Kevin's Homestay for the next few days as I searched for my parcel, which was found intact at the post office. The reason the parcel was not delivered was listed as twofold. Firstly, an item contained "batteries", which may have referred to the solar panel that couldn't store energy. Secondly, an item contained "powder". Could it have been the instant noodles? Since the parcel was returned for security reasons, the postage was not refunded. Finally, with all my goodies safely in my possession, I headed straight to my favourite steamed momo restaurant.

It was May, and the oppressive heat made Kochi appear quite desolate. All the tourists had left, and even the long-term tenants had departed in search of cooler climates. When someone asked why I was still there, it became clear that the tourist season had long been over. The fishing boats in the port seemed abandoned, and the fishermen were lethargically watching flies crawl over their meagre catch. The colourful clothes on display looked faded as they slowly flapped in the breeze. Despite the heat and humidity, India remained my favourite place to linger. Maybe it’s the madness, the contrast, the craziness of everything.

While observing the incredible amount of plastic pollution, I saw someone knitting covers for nearby tree branches. I thought to myself, “This is indeed incredible India.”

 

I had a free day in Kochi, which allowed me to explore the city and all it had to offer. I also realised that carrying a large box was impractical, so I purchased a suitcase instead.

Afterwards, I went to the washing area, where laundry was still done by hand in large concrete tubs. The clothing was then wrung out and hung on a twisted rope line. The clothesline, made of coconut husk, isn’t just green; it's considered one of the strongest. The line is twisted, and corners of the laundry are slipped into the twists, making pegs unnecessary. How clever?

Finally, all the items were neatly ironed with old-fashioned cast-iron irons heated over coals. It's amazing how nothing ever gets lost in India; it's just one of the country's countless mysteries. Again, the contrast in India left me speechless.

My return flight to Malaysia departed at 23h30, leaving me with considerable time to kill. At 80 rupees, the airport bus made more sense than a 1,200-rupee taxi ride. But, being India, not everything went according to plan. Soon after departing, all were refunded their 80 rupees and told the bus was kaput. Teaming up with Bianca from Switzerland, we hailed a tuk-tuk, and off we went in our “air-con Ferrari” in bumper-to-bumper traffic and made it just in time to catch our 23h30 flight. There’s never a dull moment in India.

 

The Return to Puchong, Malaysia

AirAsia is a budget airline, and I mean Budget. They didn’t even offer a glass of water; the fact that the toilets were free was a surprise. Still, I wasn’t complaining - it was simply fascinating. We landed smoothly, and the airport train took me to Putrajaya Central, where Peter waited. Following a few winks, I slowly gathered my stuff, ready to resume my quest. That evening, a spectacular storm broke over Puchong, complete with dramatic lightning.

The previous night’s storm made for a fresh and perfect morning jog. I jogged past municipal workers mowing lawns, leaving the smell of freshly cut grass in their wake. Past the lake and the new MRT still under construction, past the lady selling fried snacks, and I enjoyed the familiarity of what has become my morning jog. My last day in Puchong was spent doing laundry and packing my belongings, and I suddenly found I had a whole bunch of extra stuff.

 

Puchong to Kuala Selangor (73 km)

I had breakfast in the company of Peter and Alice and knew I would miss them terribly. Still, being on the bicycle and biking along rural paths was good. Towards the end of the day, the Melawati Ria Hotel came into view. At the reception, Saras, a teacher from Puchong, promptly invited me to join them on a firefly trip. We boarded a tiny rowboat in bucketing rain and surprisingly had good sightings of fireflies.

With a fair amount to see in Selangor, I donned my running shoes and headed out the door, first toward the nearby small Nature Park. Unfortunately, the area wasn’t for the fainthearted, mosquito-wise, and I had to step up the pace a tad and make my way out of the park with swarms of eager mosquitoes in hot pursuit.

Once outside the park, I dragged my then weary body up Bukit Malawati, a small hill where once stood a fort, captured by the Dutch in 1867 and recaptured by the Sultan in 1873. The only remains were part of a retaining wall, a few cannons, a poisoned well, a 200-year-old Angsana tree, and a bedrock believed to have been used for beheading traitors, but was highly likely utilised by the Sultan as a lookout over his stronghold.

Although the outing was more sightseeing than running, it remained fascinating.

 

Kuala Selangor to Melintang (75 km)

Early morning, the tarmac was already baking in the sun. Still, I filled my water bottles and searched for rural routes, of which there were plenty. These small secondary paths through palm plantations were quiet, with practically no traffic, only the occasional small kampung and playful monkeys darting across the way.

Interestingly, these Selangor silvered langurs are born sporting orange fur, while the adults are black. The fur doesn’t change colour until three to five months after birth. The young are cared for by females communally and aren’t weaned until 18 months, even though the biological mother stops lactating after 12 months. How fascinating?

Pantai Redang was home to a wishing tree with branches entangled in red ribbons. One could buy ribbons, knot them at both ends with coins, and throw them into the tree to make a wish. I threw one lying on the ground and wondered if it would have the same effect.

My chosen path continued across countless rivers, crammed with fishing boats, past ornate Hindu temples and small villages until reaching Melintang. At almost 16h00, the usual food carts were already in full swing. The smells drifting across from these stalls were enough to make me call it a day.

 

Melintang to Setiawan (60 km)

The stretch between Melintang and Setiawan turned out to be uneventful, as it didn’t offer any rural paths. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have stopped in Setiawan had it not been for me leaving my laptop charger behind. To my shock and horror, I learned that no charger was available for my brand-new laptop. How do they launch a new laptop without the necessary support? All my ranting and raving didn’t make one iota of difference, and certainly wouldn’t make one fall out of the sky.

Contacting the Kuala Selangor hotel to inquire about the charger was a priority, but the answer was negative. A subsequent phone call revealed that the charger was indeed located, and a happy dance marked the expected happy ending. Unfortunately, the saga continued as no direct bus ran to Kuala Selangor. The sole bus option ran Setiawan—Kuala Lumpur—Klang—Kuala Selangor, a two-day overnight journey returning the same way. Phew, it's best to sleep on it.

 

Packing a small bag of necessary items, I made my way out the door, mentally prepared for a long bus ride. Midway, I opted for a costly taxi ride. The fee was nearly the laptop's price at 500 Malaysian ringgit (approximately $125). But, on the positive side, I would be back the same day. There were probably better options, but the deed was done. In the process, I became the proud owner of the costliest laptop charger in Malaysia.

 

Setiawan to Taiping (90 km)

“How old are you?” and “You must be very strong” are typical remarks in this part of the world. My usual reply is that I’m not doing anything remarkable, seeing as there are women who give birth naturally. That is strong and brave! I’m simply pedalling a bicycle—not pushing a baby out of my vagina! There is no comparison!

Taiping made for a short cycling day, but I had no desire to push on to Panang, an additional 80 kilometres down the drag. During the day, I met two Belgian cyclists nearing the end of their year-long cycle journey from Belgium to Singapore. They looked fit, lean, and tanned—but mostly happy. Though they were looking forward to seeing their children and grandchildren, I was sure they would miss their life on the road. We chatted for a while before continuing on our separate ways.

I pulled into Taiping, thinking I might give the zoo one more try at night, this time with a tripod in hand, but the weather came in, and it started raining, and nothing came of my nightly visit to the zoo.

 

Taiping to Penang (98 km)

It was late morning before biking out of Taiping, as I didn’t fall asleep until the early morning hours. Fortunately, the day was overcast, making riding to Penang effortless. Not that I wasn’t sweating buckets, but at least it wasn’t under the scorching sun.

Penang was meant to be a quick in-and-out to arrange a visa for Thailand. But being Friday meant waiting until Monday to hand in the passport and, hopefully, receiving it the following morning, which meant I wouldn't resume my ride until Wednesday. In the meantime, a budget room at the Love Lane Inn was as bare-bones as they came, providing only a mattress on the floor. The price, however, reflected the lack of amenities.

Soon, the famous street food got underway, and I rushed to my favourite food stand and gulped down a good dose of exotic eats. Then, after making a copy of the passport (needed for the visa application), I returned to my mattress on the floor.

In the morning, I put on running shoes and set off to explore the area on foot. First, I went to the water’s edge, then along the promenade, past the old fort and heaps of old colonial buildings, some renovated and others still waiting in line.

One could hardly call it “running” as I merely chugged along, grimacing, gasping for air, arms flailing wildly. Taking all that effort, I should’ve moved at quite a pace but scarcely moved at all. It’s extraordinary how others can make jogging look so comfortable. Drenched in sweat, I returned to my mattress and found the shower empty due to a broken pipe. The lack of amenities made me load up and move around the corner to another and considerably better joint at the same price. At least I had a bed, bedside table, writing table, two chairs, and a “shower inside”, but the toilet was still outside. LOL.

Following my morning run, I met up with Rickee Lee, a native of Penang and fellow cycle tourer. We had breakfast together and jabbered on about all kinds of things. It’s incredible — the awesome people one meets when travelling by bike.

The following day, a bus took me to the Snake Temple along the town's outskirts. The temple is quite old and was constructed in 1850 by a Buddhist monk. Surprisingly, the snakes weren’t in cages but slithered at random. One had to tread carefully, as pit vipers were everywhere. After a few pictures, I made a hasty retreat.

Finally, Tuesday arrived, and it was time to collect the passport containing a new two-month Thailand visa. The reason for the two-month visa was that I planned to meet Tania in Bangkok around mid-June for a three-month cycling trip in Asia.

 

Penang to Alor Setar (103 km)

I just about had enough of the negativity in Southeast Asia. If one more person told me I was too old to cycle, I thought I was going to fucking punch them in the face. I look old, but Christ, I wasn’t 100 years old. All the “How old ARE you?” said with a lifting of the eyebrows was getting on my droopy tits. I guessed I could’ve donned a burka. One would swear the right to ride a bicycle was strictly reserved for those under 25. Rant over.

I didn’t get underway until 9h00, but the day offered pleasant biking and 30–33 °C weather. My chosen route followed the main road past a multitude of eateries selling interesting snacks and drinks. The area further revealed large, high-volume buildings used to farm swiftlet nests. These edible nests are made of solidified saliva and used in soups, an immensely popular, albeit expensive, dish.

The rainy season was fast approaching, and paddy fields were being prepared for planting. This labour-intensive job made me appreciate every grain. I reached Alor Setar (Alor Star) in good time, and the Comfort Hotel was easily the most affordable in town. There was no “bathroom inside”, but the bicycle could be inside, and the communal bathrooms were sparkling clean. The conveniently located night market behind the hotel provided easy pickings.

 

Alor Setar, Malaysia to Hat Yai, Thailand (106 km)

There wasn’t a single “How old are you?” on this day. I guessed my aura clearly stated, “Don’t even think about it!” The 60 kilometres to the border were uneventful, and the crossing into Thailand was easy-peasy.

I followed the usual SIM card and ATM routine before a 57-kilometre cycle ride spat me out in Hat Yai. The area around the railway station came with a plethora of inexpensive digs. Park Hotel turned out to be quite reasonable at 350 Thai baht (app. $10) for a sizable room with Wi-Fi and an en suite bathroom.

 

Epilogue

By the time I crossed into Thailand, Malaysia’s heat, generosity, and occasional absurdities had settled into the background hum of the ride. The road had stripped away the noise—especially the endless commentary about age—and left only the rhythm of pedalling toward what came next. Hat Yai marked the end of one chapter and the quiet anticipation of another: a new country, a new visa, and the promise of meeting Tania further north. The wheels had carried me exactly where they needed to.